Chapter 76 Beverly

Chapter 76 Beverly
Bev

⛸️

The fluorescent lights of the locker room hummed their monotonous tune, a sound I'd come to associate with victory. 

Not the kind you see on a scoreboard, but a quieter, more personal triumph. 

I leaned against the cold tile of the shower entrance, my towel wrapped snugly around my petite frame, and listened to the sound of water hitting flesh. 

Luke Holman. 

Even his name was perfect.

It all started the first day I walked into this rink, the newest, and let's be honest, the most conspicuous addition to Coach Barns' staff. 

A short, blonde woman in a man's world. 

They all looked at me with a mix of curiosity and condescension. 

All except him. 

Luke. 

He was standing on the ice, captain's patch on his practice jersey, his focus absolute. 

But then his eyes lifted and found mine. 

And in that moment, the entire world narrowed to the space between us. 

Tall, broad-shouldered, with that cascade of perfect blonde hair and pale skin dusted with a constellation of moles I wanted to trace with my tongue. 

Those blue eyes, wide and clear, held a flicker of something more than just polite acknowledgement. 

He saw me. Not just Coach Beverly, but me. I knew it. I knew he was mine from that second.

Getting close was a game, and I was an expert player. 

The "broken" shower in the girls' locker room was a stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. 

It gave me the perfect excuse to use the boys' facilities after hours. 

I'd time it just right, waiting until he was alone. I remember the first time I took his shirt. He'd just stripped down and stepped under the spray, his powerful back to me. 

I moved silently, grabbing the grey t-shirt from his bag.

When he came out, a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets clinging to his chest, he looked in his bag, confused. 

He snatched it from me as I 'accidentally' dropped my towel right in front of him. 

It fell away completely, and there I was. 

Naked. Vulnerable. Anything but. 

His eyes went wide, a beautiful, panicked blue, and they raked over my body. 

The way his breath hitched, the subtle shift in his stance—it wasn't shock. It was recognition. He wanted this. 

He was just too shy, too bound by his "good boy" image to admit it. I was giving him permission.

The private sessions were the next logical step. "You have real potential, Luke," I'd told him, my hand lingering on his arm just a second too long. "But to get to the next level, you need specialized coaching." 

He agreed, of course he did. He was as desperate to be near me as I was to have him.

The car trouble was my masterpiece. 

I spent a few minutes after he showed up to practice in the parking lot, a pair of pliers in hand, carefully disconnecting the negative terminal on his battery. 

When he turned the key and got nothing but a sad click, the look of frustration on his face was adorable.

"Need a ride?" I asked, walking over as if by chance.

The drive was electric. The air in the car was thick with everything we weren't saying. He was so close, smelling of soap and clean sweat. I could feel the thrum of his energy, his desire warring with his propriety.

The NHL tickets were the final push. Glass seats. Just the two of us. A hotel room "conveniently" booked right next to the arena because of the late hour. 

I laid it all out for him, a path of breadcrumbs leading directly to my bed. 

And that night, he finally took it. 

He finally let himself have what he's been wanting all along. 

The sex was frantic, desperate, and utterly mine. 

He thought he was giving in, but he was just giving me the control he's been aching to surrender.

Now, standing here in the shower, I feel that familiar, intoxicating rush. I have him. Every piece of him. His time, his thoughts, his body. 

He can't go back. He won't. He's completely caught in my web. 

Soon, he will think he's the one who couldn't resist me. 

He has no idea that every moment, every "coincidence," was meticulously planned. 

He's mine to mold, to control, to possess. 

And the power is the most exquisite feeling in the world.

⛸️

The cold air of the rink bit at my cheeks, but I barely felt it. 

All my energy was focused on the heavy doors at the far end of the ice, my anticipation a tight coil in my stomach. 

I skated slow, deliberate circles, the blades of my skates cutting clean lines into the fresh surface. 

My team quarter zip felt official, the clipboard in my glove a prop of authority. I was Coach Beverly, in control. But my control was aimed at one thing, one person.

Yesterday's silence from Luke had been a minor annoyance, a brief flicker of doubt I'd quickly extinguished. 

"Sick," he'd texted. A convenient excuse. 

I knew the truth. He was processing. He was replaying every moment in that hotel room, every touch, every word, and he was overwhelmed. 

He needed a day to let it all settle, to accept the new reality of his life. A reality with me at the center.

The doors groaned open, spilling a rectangle of light onto the ice. Mitch and the rest of the boys filed in, their chatter and clanging skates filling the cavernous space. 

And then, there he was. Luke Holman. 

He moved with that easy, athletic grace, but his eyes were fixed forward, locked on some point on the opposite boards. 

He didn't scan the room. He didn't look for me. He looked... intense. Focused. 

My breath hitched in my throat, a wave of heat washing over me despite the cold. 

God, he was perfect. 

This new seriousness, this hardened edge, was a direct result of me. I had forged this new version of him in the fires of my own desire.

They took their time getting dressed, the usual locker room din muffled by the thick walls. I watched the tunnel, waiting. Finally, they began to emerge, fully kitted out in their pads and jerseys. 

One by one, they stepped onto the ice, their blades scrabbling for purchase before gliding smoothly. 

And then, Luke was the last one to appear. 

He was a vision. The blue and white of the team uniform stretched across his broad shoulders, the cage of his helmet doing nothing to hide the sharp line of his jaw. 

Mhm. He looked so, so good.

I blew my whistle, a sharp, commanding sound that cut through the air. They formed a ragged half-circle in front of me, their attention shifting to their coach. I let my gaze sweep over them, a perfunctory check, before letting it land on Luke for a fraction of a second too long.

"Alright, listen up," I began, my voice crisp and clear. "Today we're working on defensive zone coverage. I want to see you communicating, talking to each other, moving as a unit. No lazy passes, no floating." I skated back and forth, illustrating the drill with my hands on the clipboard. "We'll run it for the first hour, then we'll scrimmage."

I paused, letting the instructions sink in. Then, I delivered the real message. "And one more thing. The administration has scheduled a mandatory drug test for after practice tomorrow. Everyone needs to be there."

A ripple of awareness, far more potent than before, went through the group. A few guys shifted their weight, their eyes darting between me and their captain. 

This was it. The moment of truth.

And his reaction was everything I could have hoped for. 

His head, which had been slightly bowed, snapped up. 

His eyes, those brilliant, conflicted beautiful blue eyes, found mine immediately. 

There was a flash of something raw in them—panic, pure, unadulterated panic, and underneath it all, a grudging, undeniable acknowledgment. 

He looked from me to Mitch, his best friend, who was staring at him with a knowing, questioning look. 

Then his gaze returned to me, trapped.

He knew. 

He knew I had him. 

The public announcement of the test, the casual way I'd delivered it, it was a leash I had just tightened with a steel chain. 

He couldn't deny it, couldn't pretend he wasn't terrified without raising questions. 

He was bound to me, not just in the dark of a hotel room, but here, in the light, on his ice, in front of his team. 

He remembered our conversation, the one where I promised I'd take care of him, that I'd take care of his friend too. 

⛸️

The last of the guys' echoes faded down the hallway, leaving the rink in a state of profound silence, broken only by the distant hum of the Zamboni and the steady, rhythmic spray from the boys' locker room shower. 

Coach Barns had left an hour ago, muttering something about his wife's pot roast. Perfect. It was just me and Luke. 

My Luke.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. 

Why not? I thought. Why should we wait? 

I slipped into the locker room, the air thick with the scent of soap and damp masculinity. 

My clothes pooled on the floor in a neat pile, a testament to my control, my lack of hesitation. 

I padded silently to the last stall, the one he always used. 

The shower curtain was a flimsy, opaque barrier, but I knew what was behind it. I slid it open with barely a sound.

And there he was. 

The water cascaded over his muscular back, tracing the powerful lines of his biceps, the perfect curve of his ass, and the solid strength of his legs. 

He was a sculpture, and I was the only one who truly appreciated the art. 

I closed the curtain behind me, sealing us in our own private, steam-filled world. I reached out and tapped his shoulder.

He spun around, his movements sharp and startled. His hands flew down to cover himself, a gesture of modesty that was both endearing and utterly futile. "Bev? What are you doing?" His voice was a strained whisper.

I pressed a single finger to his lips, a universal command for silence. 

"Shhhh." I let my finger linger for a moment before pulling it away. "About the drug test tomorrow," I said, my voice low and soothing. "Don't you worry about a thing. I will make sure you and Mitch both pass." 

I watched his eyes, gauging his reaction. "When was the last time you did drugs?"

I placed my hand flat on his chest, feeling the frantic, steady beat of his heart against my palm. 

He hesitated, his gaze darting away from mine. I leaned in closer, my voice a conspiratorial caress. "You can confide in me with anything, Luke. Anything at all."

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yesterday," he mumbled, the word swallowed by the spray.

I knew it. 

A triumphant thrill shot through me. He wasn't sick. He was processing. Processing us. The weight of what we'd done, the magnitude of our connection. 

"You will pass," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "And you will get drafted. We got this." I reached for his hand, my fingers lacing through his. He let me, his hand limp in mine.

"But I still don't think this is right," he said, the words barely audible but laced with a desperate conviction. "Between us."

"Why not?" I countered, my voice soft but firm. "We're both mature. It's all consensual." I squeezed his hand, pulling him infinitesimally closer. "And who else do we have? We only got each other, Luke. I know you. I see you. The real you, behind the captain's jersey and the perfect grades. We can trust each other." I let the words hang in the air, then delivered the final, perfect blow. "I also think... I'm falling for you, Luke."

I didn't wait for a response. 

I took his hand, the one I was holding, and guided it up, placing it firmly on my breast. 

His fingers twitched against my skin, a spark of electricity in the steamy air. 

I looked up into his conflicted, beautiful blue eyes and asked the only question that mattered. "Aren't you falling for me, too?"

For a moment, his hand remained on my breast, a warm, heavy weight of potential. 

Then, as if waking from a trance, he snatched it back. 

He shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair, his face a mask of conflict. "This isn't right at all," he said, his voice stronger now, laced with a desperate certainty. "We need to stop this."

I wasn't deterred. 

I saw his hesitation for what it was—a fleeting moment of panic, not a true rejection. 

I grabbed his hand again, my grip firm, unyielding. "I know you want this just as much as I do," I murmured, stepping closer, our bodies nearly touching under the hot spray. "You don't have to deny it. Not to me. You know you can't resist me, and that you don't want to resist me." I let my thumb stroke over his knuckles. "It's okay for us to be attracted to each other."

I could see the war in his eyes, so I pressed my advantage. "And plus, think of it, Luke. Think of how amazing it would be for us to be in a secret relationship together. How hot and alive it would feel. Just us, against the world." I softened my voice, appealing to the vulnerability I knew he hid so well. "I know you said you're lonely at home, that you have no one to really talk to. You can come stay with me whenever you want. I have my own home. I'm established. I can really give you some amazing training, more connections than you could ever dream of. Just think about it."

He stood there, the water streaming down his chest, his eyes scanning me up and down. He was weighing his options, but I had already stacked the deck in my favor. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll think about it."

"Great," I said, a triumphant smile playing on my lips. I reached up and cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at me. "And don't you feel guilty or wrong for feeling things for me. Because I don't feel guilty or wrong for feeling things for you, Luke." I leaned in, my lips just inches from his. "So kiss me."

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his blue eyes searching mine, looking for an escape he wouldn't find. 

And then he surrendered. 

His lips met mine, tentative at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored my own. I smiled into the kiss, tasting my victory, tasting him. He was mine. Completely.